Gravity
by Thunderstorm Kick Drum
Summary: The clumsy fingers of war, slipping and leaving love on the ground, shattered, like pieces of broken glass, with only that sliver of hope at the bottom of the mason jar, so faint it's hard to imagine the light at the end... Warning- Character death.


**Hey, guys; Not really in the mood for an author's note, but tell me if you like it.**

** ~Elsie**

** P.S. Thalia did not quit the hunters, she just joined the army.**

** Disclaimer: I don't own.**

___"The greatest stories of war are not of the people we see in battle, but the people who wait at home, peering down that tunnel, unafraid if that light they see is an incoming train, and willingly laying down in its tracks as gunshots fire at the little wall of faith around their hearts."_

"The recipient of this very prestigious award has fought valiantly for our country, and has not died in vain. I would like to give him a few words now… " The minister's voice was very quiet as he spoke, examining the front row of the church. The pew was filled with women, all crying wives of men that would not come back home. He looked back down at the closed casket in front of him, with the American Flag on top, wondering what the face looked like underneath it. He had never had the chance to meet any family members of the man, or see any pictures. After the explosion, the body inside had been wrapped, the damage so extensive that it would have been too morbid to have an open casket. Father John Harris met eyes with his wife, Eliza, from where she stood with the medal. Not just any medal, though; the Metal of Honor. He watched the light shine from the purple stained-glass window onto the gold, illuminating the whole room in a bright, warm yellow. The women in the front row all were watching the Metal, wondering how this man had had the honor of receiving it. Father Harris wet his lips with his tongue, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke, reading from the folded piece of paper he had received upon being asked to perform this ceremony.

The ceremony was for all of the fallen soldiers of war, and all of the families that bore this tragic news. The children cried for their daddies, middle-aged mothers

"The explosion claimed the lives of millions. During a typical village raid, one soldier miss-fired and shot a propane tank. The tank blew, lighting fire to a hospital near it. The children inside were saved, but at the loss of another. Bravery and heroism don't even begin to describe this man, who gave his life for many others." He met the eyes of all of the wives in the front row, his eyes meeting colors of blue, green, and brown. He took a deep breath, wondering which of them would be claiming the cold piece of metal that sat in his wife's hand, in exchange for the life of her husband.

"Would the closest family member of Sergeant Perseus Logan Jackson come forward to claim the Metal of Honor in his name."

The faces of all the women in the front row went from dreadful to confused. Each turned to the other, their faces bewildered when they saw none of them standing, for anyone standing for that matter. Father Harris waited, thinking they were crying too hard to stand.

Nothing.

Did this man have no family? Did he have no one that was here to wish him off?

Did he not have a home to go back to, and that was why he did what he had?

He was interrupted by the standing of the back row of pews, all facing the very back aisle to the far left hand side. The second-to-last row soon rose too, all staring at the middle of the aisle. Soon, each row was standing, watching the back of the church.

Or, Father Harris should say, the woman standing in the back.

The first thing that struck Father Harris was her age. She couldn't possibly be any older than 20, maybe 21. Her hair looked like the color of dishwater underneath the cold, dull fluorescent lighting, hanging loosely around her waist in thick curls. She stood alone, her arms wrapped around her waist, hunched over a bit, as if in pain. She was wearing a beautiful black dress, her shoulders bare as her tiny body shook with each breath she took. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her lips quivering as she slowly, yet determinedly, walked down the aisles to the platform. As she neared closer, he noticed her eyes were the most intimidating color of gray, like the eye of a hurricane; literally. She took in a deep breath between her teeth, her eyes closing tightly, as if she was afraid to look at the casket in front of him. He watched three tears stream down her cheeks, two falling off of either cheek, but the third falling onto her hands, in which she clutched a ball-point pen, her knuckles turning white from loss of circulation. In her other hand, which was crossed over her opposite arm, he noticed she clutched a sheet of dazzlingly white paper, along with one small flower he soon noticed was illuminating moonl-lace.

Lastly, to Father Harris' horror, he noticed the large, basket-ball shaped mass in-between her hips, her dress riding up a bit in the front.

_Oh, dear sweet Lord… _Father Harris thought, his eyes welling with tears. _She's… she's pregnant. Please, tell me this man isn't her husband. Please let her be a friend, or sister, or…_

His hope was crushed when he noticed her eyes lock on the casket, her eyes re-filling with tears as she brought a hand up to her face, covering her eyes as she sobbed, showcasing a simple golden-band diamond ring.

She slowly made her way up the stairs to the platform Father Harris was on, her eyes downcast and her hand rested on her stomach. Father Harris shook her free hand, the tears in his eyes overflowing. He squeezed he hand slightly, causing her to look up.

"How far along?" He asked softly. She held his eyes for a second, and he could see all of the emotional strain this put on her, how hard she tried to act like it didn't hurt. He smiled slightly, touching her cheek with his warm, moist hand. She smiled waterly at him, covering his hand with her palm.

"Eight and a half months," She murmured, her eyes drifting to the casket. He bit his lip, releasing her hand.

"Thank you for your service, Miss…."

"Misses," she said, her voice shaky and week. " Mrs. Annabeth Jackson." She swallowed shallowly, her tears leaking down her face. Her nose turned to the sky, and her grasped inside her dress pocket, pulling out two other medals, exactly like the one she was about to receive now.

"One for Nico," She said, holding the medal in the palm of her hand. "One for Thalia, and now…" She laughed hollowly, and it rang through the whole church, making the women cringe. "One for Seaweed Brain. All of them had no way they could die, Father, but they just had to succumb to their stupid hero complexes and go off and get themselves killed." She smiled ruefully, shaking her head. "Do you believe in Fate, father?" She asked.

"Yes, yes I do," Father Harris said quickly, not wanting to upset her further. She just met his eyes, hers blank and emotionless. Father Harris bristled, his breathing shallowing.

"Do you have any children, Father Harris?" She asked, digging her nails into her arm. He nodded, his tongue tied.

"Three; Jake, Nora, and Tessie," He said. She met his eyes, holding onto his wrist.

"Go home, Father Harris," She mumbled, releasing his hand and walking back down the aisle, nodding at the other women as she went. "Go home to your kids, because you'll never know when they're going to leave."

"Why did you marry him?"

Annabeth turned from doing the dishes to meet the eyes of her twelve year old son, who was leaning against the doorway. His eyes scorched her skin, a hidden depth inside them that should not be in a twelve year old's eyes. Annabeth sighed, whipping her hands on a slightly-damp dish towel and patting the counter next to the sink, her hands splashing in the thin layer of dank dish water on the surface. He hopped up anyways, cocking his head to the side and watching her quietly.

"What do you mean, baby?" Annabeth asked, hoping to distract him. He crossed his arms in a way that clearly said 'you know what I mean'. She sighed, resting her palms on his knobby knees.

"Do we have to talk about this, Savior?" She asked, holding his gaze. Savior Perseus Jackson shook his head at his mother, her eyes burning with disgust.

"Why did you marry Kyle, mom? He hurts you. He smokes a pack a day, he never lets you leave the house, he uses all the money you get for work on Russian vodka and porno-"

"Savior Perseus!"

"What? It's the truth!" Savior complained, crossing his arms. Annabeth smiled slightly, remembering the last time she got that look; the 'you've got to be shitting me' look, with those same eyes.

Why, oh why, did Savior have to be born with _his _eyes?

Any color but that gorgeous sea green would have made marrying Kyle Richaro easy. It would have made that little voice inside her head, the same one that whispered her to sleep and argued with her, teased her, easy to ignore. Annabeth didn't want to have to stoop as low as Sally did to protect her son; she wasn't planning on it when Savior was born.

But the monsters have a bone to pick with a Jackson boy; they didn't really care which.

So Annabeth had to find a man even more repulsive than Gabe Ugliano to mask both Savior and her scent, a man that could protect Savior without realizing it until Savior was finally picked up by none other than Ivy Underwood, his best friend and protector extraordinaire. Grover had told her a million times that Savior and herself could go live with him and Juniper, but they already had five children; all the attention wouldn't have made well for Savior.

So Annabeth got regularly beaten, yelled at, and throttled by a man so much lesser than her, she could only imagine what….

No, she thought, tears welling in her eyes. Don't think his name, don't think his name, don't you _dare_ Annabeth…

Too late, she thought, tears spilling down her cheeks and into Savior's hair from where he sat in her bear-hug. Savior squeezed her tightly, his curly black hair, sea-green eyes and freckle-covered cheeks illuminated in the light of the coffee machine's neon screen, his face confused. She smiled at him sadly, touching his cheek with a gentle hand. Oh, how much she wished to tell Savior how much he was alike to his father, in almost every way….

"I can't tell you yet, honey, but I promise you, there will come a day, when you'll never have to look at Kyle again."

"Really?" Savior asked, his eyes brightening. Annabeth nodded, patting his cheek.

"Yep," She answered, tapping his nose with her index finger. He winkled his nose, twitching it like a bunny. Annabeth laughed, lifting him down from the counter and hugging him, feeling his arms tighten around her waist, as he was only just below her chest in height. She kissed his hair, smiling into the thick, raven-black locks.

"I love you, Mom," He mumbled into her shirt, his lips moving against the fabric. Annabeth smiled, kissing his cheek.

"I love you, too, Savior. Hey," she asked, her eyes twinkling. "Isn't there a girl you said you thought was pretty when you went and visited uncle G the other day?" Savior groaned, burying his face in her sweatshirt to hide his flaming cheeks.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice muffled. "Her name is Asteria Gray, and she's so…. Amazing. I've been friends with her for three years now. Don't you remember her? Ria Gray?" He asked, looking up. Annabeth smiled, nodding at her son.

"Yes; what about her?"

"Well," He answered, "She's insistent that we just can't like each other! She even gave me the world's worst nickname!"

"And what would that be?" Annabeth humored him, amused.

"Seaweed Brain? Can you imagine? Who in the world would call someone that?"

**Please review, and tell me how I did. **

**~Elsie**


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